


Hello, Major

by lesbianquill



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Military Uniforms, aka i satisfy my own gay thirst, bernie in uniform is my kink everyone else go home, ptsd mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianquill/pseuds/lesbianquill
Summary: Serena suggests something new, and Bernie's reluctance pays off later.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HO BOY. This has been sitting around in my folder for a while. It was calling to be finished, so I did, and boy am I glad for it.
> 
> There's a little bit of angst surrounding Bernie's past, but it's cool.

When Serena had originally suggested the idea of seeing Bernie in her army gear (and eventually, as the night wound on, seeing her out of it), anyone would have thought that she had suggested an evening of puppy-kicking.

It wasn’t so much the uniform itself— previous comments about a certain hankering for a man in uniform aside— but the thought of Bernie inside of it. Her attitude as she stands up a little straighter, adds a commanding edge to her tone, a dominant swagger to her walk. The imagery alone has Serena drifting to a rather racy fantasy quicker than she can push the feelings away.

Bernie, however, does not share her blossoming enthusiasm. Shuts her down straight away with a firm _no_ that Serena takes as a challenge.

“Oh, go on.” She presses the thought, pushing a little too far.

“It’s not a costume, Serena,” Bernie snaps back. “I lost colleagues in that uniform. Friends. Anyway, it’s more than that, it’s—” The halo of curls tousle as she shakes her head, “—you wouldn’t understand.”

Serena’s face falls. _You wouldn’t understand._  Like there was a whole part of Bernie’s life she could never really get a hold of.

“Yes, you’re perfectly right. I never should have asked.” She says stiffly as she moves away, dejected by Bernie’s dismissal as well as her sharpness.

Serena knows she doesn’t really mean it, but it doesn’t stop her from sulking around the ward all day, the quarrel turning in her mind over and over. Maybe this was all some kind of mistake. She could never be right for Bernie— not after all she’d seen, all she’d _done_ . Serena was no action man ( _woman? Either way, she's no GI Jane)_. They were from two different worlds.

So when her shift ends and she finally gets to the car, she does so with a heavy heart. Drives home fast with a bottle of Shiraz in mind. Or two. Or as many as it takes, really, to settle the mind-numbing stupidity that had given her any kind of feelings for Berenice bloody Wolfe.

 _Hah— as if  someone like me could ever tame the heart of the woman superhero,_ She thinks as she turns the key off in the ignition, _Just my luck._

 

* * *

 

 

Bernie eyes the bag under the bed. The toe of a boot peeks, forgotten, from the shadows— left there some time ago upon her return. She doesn’t know why Serena had brought it up— or rather, she knows perfectly well why, just not why _now_ — but she’d been on tenterhooks all day trying to weigh it up in her mind.

As far as she’s concerned, those two aspects of her life were best kept separated: her army days, that still releases a stab of pain in her chest when she thinks about it, and Serena. Sweet, kind, wonderful Serena, with her strong will and pouring heart, who deserves far better than to clash with the scars of Bernie’s past.

Speaking of scars, Bernie lifts a hand to gently trace the one on her chest, sweeping it with her finger as she thinks.

There’s still nights, though not as often as they once were, that Bernie wakes in a cold sweat, tears rolling down her exhausted face as she fights for a breath that feels like it’ll never come. Images of men blown to pieces. A series of mangled body parts, their owners crying out for anyone, _anything_ to ease their pain. It was the kind of thing that she had learned to detach herself from, to see them as things that needed to be put back together, as if it’d make it any easier to stomach. It didn’t.

Then there was the accident. The ringing in her ears as the IED went off. The pain that shook her as the car rolled. The thought that _this could be the end,_ even though she had so much more to give. She hadn’t even known Serena then— had never learned that life could be more than throwing herself into the front line and burying herself under years of relentless work. Hadn’t come to love the gentle curve of Serena’s smile, or the hands that were weathered from the job yet never felt wrong when they were entwined with her own. Or her eyes, that stared into a part of her that she had shut off, kept on the back burner and refused to admit to, even when—

Well. Alex was another subject for another day, she decides, and not only because it still hurts, it its own ridiculous way.

Still, her work was something Bernie took great pride in. She still does, and the uniform that she had done it all in was a reminder of her achievements— wasn’t it? All the lives she had saved, and the impossible conditions she had saved them in. _The best front line surgeon in the country_. Her own words. Didn’t she owe it to herself to wear her uniform however she wished?

Not only that, but she has to admit— camo has always looked bloody good on her.

 

* * *

 

 

Serena is only part way into the first bottle when there’s a ring at the door. She contemplates hiding from the visitor, letting them think that she’s not there, before remembering that she’s an adult. An adult with a car parked in the driveway and all the lights on downstairs. An adult whose heart races as she changes her mind and opens the door to find her very own big macho army medic, standing there, in the flesh. In full army fatigues.

Silence looms between them as Serena stares, eyebrow quirked in interest. Lips parted, as if there are any words she could offer that would do any justice to the pure filth that commands her thoughts. The grip on her wine glass is dangerously tight. She sets it down in fear of shattering it in her own hand.

She can’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing will do justice to the sight of Bernie like this, all official-looking and unsullied. She is very much the same Berenice Wolfe that she knows inside-out, but this version of her sets Serena alight in a way she didn’t even think was possible.

“Nice beret.” The words tumble out of her mouth before she can form a real, coherent sentence, eyes not sure where to look as they stumble over every single detail.

Bernie just smiles, hands digging into her pockets, and nods towards the door.

“Are you not going to let me in then?” She asks, eyebrows raised. That stupid fringe of hers is tucked away for once, Serena notices, before practically pulling her inside.

The kiss is hot and fast but there’s something more— an overwhelming sweetness. Bernie had done this _for her. The woman she loves._ There she was, fretting all day over the uncertainty of their feelings for one another— all over a uniform, no less. A uniform that without a shadow of a doubt makes Serena’s insides turn to jelly. Perhaps it was better that they were kissing; this way, at least she doesn’t have to look at her.

Then, somewhat tentatively, she pulls back to take a peek. _Oh._ She looks _delightful_. Spindly limbs are bulked up a little, sleeves rolled up to her elbows to expose a tempting slither of skin. The belt pulls in a waist that otherwise would have been lost under a sea of camouflage. She worships her with her eyes from the top of her beret down to her shining, boot-clad toes, trailing a long line up and down her body. Bernie watches her with sparkling eyes, lips pulled into a smirk. Serena has a little trouble looking at her face. Finally, she lets out a whistle, matching Bernie’s grin with one of her own.

“ _Hello Major,_ ” She purrs, before taking her by the hand and leading her upstairs. She needs her in the bedroom, and she needs her there _now_. As much as she’d love to stand her in the corner and gaze at her all night, Serena thinks that she might just melt if she doesn’t get her hands under those trousers.

As soon as they’re behind the door, Bernie practically rips the beret from her head as she captures Serena’s lips in a kiss, careful not to step on her toes as she guides her backwards towards the bed. She mumbles a short acknowledgement at the discarded headgear with the sight of Serena’s confused expression. “Never liked the bloody thing anyway.”

Serena laughs. “Good. I’d rather have something to hold onto.” She much prefers Bernie’s golden head of hair loose and flowing, if only to run her hands through it and inevitably use it to pull on later. She knows that Bernie doesn’t mind this. At all. Especially when her cheeks tint a lovely shade of pink, fringe dipping forward to shield dark, lust-filled eyes.

They stumble for a moment as Serena stops walking. “No, no— this isn’t going to work.” Bernie’s smile falters before she sees the shift in Serena’s gaze, the look in her eye that reads pure, delicious _danger._ “I need you back up against that wall, soldier. _Now_.”

Bernie doesn’t need telling twice.

The belt is the next thing to go, flung off in some other direction for them to discover later. Bernie is already starting on the buttons of her shirt before Serena stills her hands. Her gaze is practically burning.  

“Not so fast,” Serena warns, “I want to savour this.” And she does, stepping back to drink her in with her eyes. The more dishevelled she looks, the more Serena wants her. There’s a hint of collarbone peeking out from behind the fabric and Serena leans in to press a kiss to Bernie’s skin, revelling in the gasp she draws from her with the addition of teeth. Her heart does backflips at the sudden realisation that Bernie’s getting off on this, too— and a smile dances across her lips as she pulls away, a devilish glint in her eye. “Go on, then. Unbutton your shirt.” As Bernie’s hands jolt into action, Serena adds, “ _Slowly, Major._ ” She can see Bernie shiver. If she had known it was going to be this fun, she would have suggested the idea weeks ago.

Each opened button reveals another few inches of skin, as well as the clinging t-shirt underneath. Serena grins. Bernie is quiet, chewing on her lip as she watches Serena’s eyes on her. Her chest is heaving with anticipation. As the last button pops free, Bernie goes to shrug off the garment, but Serena shakes her head at her.

“Keep it on.”

“Serena—” It’s the first thing that Bernie has said in a very long time, cut off with the intake of her own breath as Serena steps closer, reaches to spread a hand over her abdomen, tugging the corner of her t-shirt up from where it was tucked into her trousers. From there she slips her fingers underneath, feeling her way across taut muscles and smooth skin. She lets out a soft, delighted laugh when she reaches Bernie’s bare breast, eyes sparkling as she kneads the soft flesh, eliciting a moan from between bitten lips. Bernie’s hands clench into fists by her sides. _Good_.

What had started as Serena’s desire to be devoured by a woman in uniform had dissolved into knocking the Major down a peg or two. She doesn’t really know what she wants exactly— just that she wants _Bernie_ , under her hands, her lips, her tongue.

Serena’s free hand teases at Bernie’s waistband. She pops the button herself, shortly followed by the zipper, pulled down swiftly and needily. She’s desperate, but oddly calm about it. For once, all those emotions that she’s been harbouring stop bubbling to the surface, fading away to this steely demeanour that has Bernie shaking under her touch. They don’t need words; their eyes say everything their mouths don’t, and if anything, the silence only heightens the feeling of her fingertips on goosepimpled skin.

Serena shoves a knee between Bernie’s thighs and she immediately obliges, legs spreading to accommodate the press of eager fingers as they slip into her boxer shorts. She settles in the soft nest of curls for a moment as she leans forward to kiss her, long and slow and hard. It’s achingly tender, but gives Serena an excuse to swallow the moans she pulls from her as dexterous fingers explore the slickness between her thighs.

There’s a dull thud when they part as Bernie’s head tips back against the wall, eyes clenched shut, mouth agape. Her hair is starting to escape its updo, a curl unfolding here and there, framing her face perfectly as she curses Serena and her masterful hands. Her motions are precise in the most infuriating way. Serena knows where to touch, where to stroke, and she knows _exactly_ when to hang back and let Bernie suffer.

The curl of Serena’s fingers has Bernie jolting, kicking the heel of her boot to scuff the wallpaper behind her. Serena pulls away, eyes the mark she’d left, and tuts.

“Oh, _Major_ , where’s your resolve?” She asks, voice dripping with sex. Usually she’d be irritated at the ruining of her decorum, but she knows she’ll be looking at it with fond thoughts every time she walks through the door. Thoughts of Bernie panting out a harsh breath, wriggling on her fingers, desperate to get any ounce of friction she could.

Bernie grabs Serena by the collar. Pulls her in until their foreheads touch, while her hips search insistently to satisfy the loss of Serena’s fingers.

“I need—”

The words evaporate in her throat as Serena obliges. Fucks her hard against the wall, leaving Bernie’s legs trembling. Thank god the house is otherwise empty, because the moan Serena pulls from her is _incredible_ , loud and long and raspy. She doubts that she’s never heard a noise so wonderful in her life. Part of her still hangs in disbelief, that the woman under her isn’t really hers after all but instead some cold, far away dream— but then Bernie is tangling her fingers in Serena’s hair, pulling her in so they’re flush against each other, save for Serena’s hands between them.

No, she decides, this is exactly where she needs to be, and it’s _real_.

There’s a point that Serena wonders if this is anything like Alex— if they fucked, hard and fast, or if they shared the same lingering looks, the delicate touches, the things that Serena has reserved for Bernie alone (not that they didn’t have their fair share of quick thrills— Serena still had the briefest of their encounters tucked away in her mind).

Even if it is useless to be jealous after all this time, Serena finds her feelings translated into touches, hands moving faster, pulling hard at the nipple between her fingers, her other driving hard against Bernie’s core. They’re staring into each other’s eyes, looking deep into one another, and Serena finds the answers she is looking for in those dark irises. It’s her that Bernie’s eyes scream for. It’s Serena that is enveloping her, satisfying her. Filling her, touching her, building her up to her peak.

Then Bernie is coming, and Serena swallows the howl she makes by drawing her in with her lips, smiling into it as Bernie chases a seemingly neverending high. Hands that had remained at her sides move to tangle in a fistful of short hair, leaving Serena gasping as she pulls away.

“ _Jesus,_ Serena,” Bernie pants, “Where did that come from?”

In all honestly, she has no idea. It seems like the stress of her day had decided to expel itself— the self-doubt, the demanding work, the edge in Bernie’s voice as she’d shut her out— all concentrated into something surprisingly wonderful. Surprisingly _sexy._

As soon as Bernie has found her strength, she’s wasting no time at all in returning the favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving this as a one-shot for now, unless anyone wants to see what Bernie has in store for our precious little kinkster :^) Let me know in the comments (I mean, if you want to)!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, y'all wanted a twist? I give the people what they want, and then I add the promise of _another_ chapter, because I'm just that kinda gal. 
> 
> There's a lot less feels and a lot more sex in this chapter. It took a bit of a different turn than I thought it would, but I'm into it. Let us commence.

Serena hadn’t envisioned her evening turning out anything like this. She assumed that her night would be spent drowning her sorrows. Grovelling down the phone, perhaps. Turning herself into bed early to wish the rest of her day away.

But then Bernie had showed up at her door, with that smirk that made her knees just that little bit weaker, and those eyes that twinkled with a burning promise.

It was just like something out of one of her fantasies. Except for the almost unbelievable fact that she had led Bernie upstairs. Taken charge of her. Left her desperate for her touch. And now she’s letting Bernie push her gently towards the bed with a resonating dominance amplified by the uniform she’s wearing. The uniform that looks obscenely attractive on her, quite frankly.

Bernie looks very slightly mussed from Serena’s groping: her hair hangs loose, shirt unbuttoned, the tee underneath halfway untucked from trousers that now hang low on her hips, and _god,_ does she look beautiful.

Serena stares up at her— watching, waiting. She can see Bernie hesitate. Like she doesn’t know what to do with her, like she’s filtering through a list of scenarios filed away in her brain, a plethora of all the ways she can have her.

“I want you to be rough with me,” Serena assures her, because she does.

She’s been waiting for this for a very long time. Carefully piecing all the details together in her mind: Bernie giving her orders. _On your knees,_ or a low grumble of _Touch yourself, just like that._ Images of herself perched on the carpet between those sun-scorched boots, face buried in the apex of her thighs. On quite a few occasions she imagines a harness hugging Bernie’s slender hips under all her finery, the curve of a toy straining against her fatigues. How Bernie would pin her into the mattress and fuck her until she saw stars. That one is her favourite. She visits it many times when Bernie isn’t there, cries out her pleasure into the empty bedroom until her voice is hoarse and she realises that all she wants is Bernie there beside her.

Serena is cruelly jolted from her thoughts as Bernie leans into her, fingers digging under the waistband of her trousers as she tugs them from her hips. The touch pulls a quiet moan from Serena’s throat, and Bernie breathes a soft laugh at her eagerness. Serena can’t help it— watching Bernie like this is making her antsy, impatient. There’s a hunger in Bernie’s eyes that sends a fresh wave of warmth flooding between her legs.

“And the rest,” Bernie demands as Serena steps out of the pool of fabric at her feet, kicking it behind her to forget until the morning.

Serena removes her blouse slowly, peels it off without breaking eye contact. She knows that Bernie isn’t really one for words— she’d much rather show her thought process than vocalise it, a perfect contrast to Serena and her unguarded tongue— but she knows that all of this is hers. Even if Bernie had stood there and said nothing at all, the fact that she turned up in the first place spoke volumes alone. And Serena loves her for it. Loves the hint of softness in Bernie’s eyes as she watches her undress, the blouse thrown away, the bra following it shortly after. Bernie swallows as Serena pushes her underwear to the floor. Serena especially loves that— loves the way Bernie looks at her like she’s a complete marvel, like she’s never seen a woman undress before. Like she’s never seen _her_ undress before.

Bernie straightens up, hanging back to devour Serena’s newly naked form with her eyes. Suddenly, Serena feels exposed. Being shy isn’t something she is used to, not by any means. Serena is brazen, confident, commanding. Yet Bernie’s eyes have taken a new darkness to them that sends a shot of electricity up her spine. _Is it fear or thrill?_ Serena can’t tell, but she likes it.

As Bernie’s hands move at last, Serena holds her breath— but instead of touching her, Bernie is dressing herself. Tucking her t-shirt back in. Zipping up her trousers. Tying her hair into a fresh ponytail. She leaves the shirt unbuttoned, because she knows Serena prefers her that way, with the soft outline of her chest pressed against clinging white fabric. Serena doesn’t claim to be an expert on sex— more of an enthusiast, especially where Bernie is concerned— but she’s pretty sure that the point of sex is _undressing_ , not the reverse striptease that Bernie is offering her. There’s a pang of loss in Serena’s chest. Is Bernie going to walk away, after all of this, now that she’s had her fill?

Then Bernie is kicking off her boots, leaving Serena utterly confused.

“Bernie? What are you...” She trails off as Bernie brushes past her— and Serena is trying her hardest not to fall apart at the feeling of the harsh fabric against her bare skin alone— to climb onto the bed, settling against the headboard with her ankles crossed in thick white socks. Serena looks over her shoulder. Watches as Bernie’s eyes wander down her spine, over the soft, round curve of her backside. She smirks, before her eyes snap back upwards to meet Serena’s gaze.

“Come here.” Bernie pats her lap. Serena swallows thickly, turns to face her, and crawls over to straddle her legs.

It seems like every time they do this Bernie is discovering her body all over again— learning every inch of skin, each intricate dip and curve of flesh. Her eyes roam, shortly followed by her hands: up the curve of Serena’s waist, over her breasts, then her shoulders. She pauses there, leaning in to trail a hot line of kisses across her collarbone, accompanied by the occasional nip of teeth, before her hands continue their slow descent down her spine. Serena hums her appreciation, back arching only to press her chest more insistently towards Bernie’s willing lips. Lips that clamp down on her breast, teasing against the stiff peak of her nipple.

Serena’s breath is short and heavy, and for the first time her eyes slip shut. She lets the heavenly image of Bernie underneath her slip away, replaced by the overwhelming feeling of fingertips and tongue, and she’s convinced that she’s already close to coming without Bernie really doing much of anything.

That is, until Bernie pulls away. Serena’s eyes peel open to stare at her pointedly. A _don’t you dare stop, Berenice_ , kind of stare, but Bernie ignores it.

“Tell me what you want.” She says instead. Serena wasn’t expecting that. She expected teasing— maybe a promise of what was to come— not the gentle offering of whatever Serena desires, wrapped up in a voice of steel.

She falters, hesitates. What _does_ she want? She thought she wanted Bernie to rough her up a bit. Now she wants anything, anywhere, so long as Bernie is touching her. She can’t bear the thought of her pulling away any longer. Luckily she doesn’t need to answer, because Bernie sees the uncertainty in her eyes, the burning desire diluted with fear and unease.

“I’ll tell you what _I_ want,” she starts in that small, sure voice, the one reserved for Serena alone, tongue darting out to wet smirking lips, “I want you to use me.”

Serena can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “Sorry?”

Bernie just smiles. Leans in to kiss her while one hand offers two wonderful fingers. Serena is already instinctively bucking against them, moan high in her throat as her hips search for the friction she needs.

“If you want to come,” Bernie grins against her lips, voice low and filled with promise, “Then _show me_. Get yourself off.”

Serena leans back, straightens up. Steadies herself on Bernie’s shoulders before giving an experimental grind onto her fingers. It feels _good_ , but not as good as the twist in her stomach as her brain pieces everything together— bridges the divide between her brain and her body.

Bernie Wolfe, _her_ Bernie, is underneath her. Watching with glittering eyes, and rightly so, because Serena is braced on her body as she settles herself back down onto fingers slick with her own arousal. Bernie is filling her, her mouth pulling into a smug smile at the eager roll of Serena’s hips. _Bernie is getting off on this,_ she realises. Getting off on her getting off. Round and round in her head it goes, this circle of realisation that makes her heart drop as she sees colour rise in Bernie’s cheeks, up her neck, across her chest.

Serena can see the hard outline of Bernie’s nipples straining against her shirt. Longs to reach out and touch her, to brush her fingertips across them and tug them between her fingers until she’s gasping, but then Bernie is swiping her thumb over her clit, and her thoughts crumble into dust as the electric feeling thrums through her body. She cries out, the sound dying into a soft gasp as her hips snap back downwards to be greeted by another of Bernie’s fingers.

Serena dives forwards to capture Bernie’s lips in a bruising kiss. Pants hot and harsh against her mouth as she grinds down on Bernie’s hand. Her own grip tightens on the camo-bathed shoulders, and Bernie lets out a moan, a signal of her own desperation. There’s a sharp pull of teeth against Serena’s bottom lip and she can just about manage to release a shuddering breath as they pull apart. Expert fingers curl inside of Serena as she sinks down, and her body feels like it’s on fire. Throws her head back with a string of strangled sounds, because her mind is full of Bernie: filling her up and stretching her out and watching her come apart. Bernie in uniform and Bernie out of it. Bernie with her dark eyes and lopsided smirk that sucks her in and swallows her attention every time.

Bernie who loves her, unconditionally, enough to give herself over like this. Who would play at being Serena’s toy, her accessory, her thing to be used until she is exhausted and fully spent.

Who would be there to kiss her forehead and pull her close afterwards.

“Look at me,” Bernie coos, gentle but firm, “I want to see you.”

Serena’s eyes are wild, glazed with pure heat as she looks down at her. Her nostrils are flared. Her lips are parted, but she has no sound to offer. Just the flutter of breath, erratic as ever. Bernie looks proud, smug. Serena can’t blame her. It’s not the first time Bernie has rendered her speechless, nor would it be the last.

“Tell me how it feels.” Bernie says steadily.

At first, Serena lets out a whine, not just because it’s all she can manage but because _how?_ How could she find the words to express how good this feels, how utterly in love she is with her? This woman, who spends most of her time being unsure of everything, who turns up on her doorstep more sure than ever. Who is a useless human being but an excellent surgeon, and an even better lover. Who has torn her to shreds and stitched her back together in such a way that Serena is bound to her, forever, always unable to resist the tug at her heart when her mind settles on Berenice bloody Wolfe and all of those things about her that she wouldn’t change for the world.

“ _Good_ ,” She breathes, “ _So good._ God, darling, I— I—” She cuts off with a frustrated groan. She can feel the hot stir of pleasure in the pit of her stomach but she’s still reaching out, still struggling to grasp onto it and pull herself over the edge. “ _Please, Bernie..._ ” she sobs, because there’s nothing she can say to vocalise how she feels. Nothing that explains how much she just _needs_ Bernie, in her entirety.

Bernie just nods and leans into her, sucks hard on the skin of Serena’s breast as she draws her nipple into her mouth. Has Serena practically yelling her name with the swirl of her tongue. Bernie doesn’t stop, simply flutters her eyes open to lock onto Serena’s as she carries on torturing her with her mouth. Seeing Bernie like this— seeing her eyes burning as she kisses and nips and sucks so intently— pulls suddenly at her heart. Makes her stomach flip until she’s not sure if she’s going to float off into the ceiling or sink down through the floor. Everything is so burning and intense and _so much_ , and Serena is so close that it hurts, her body screaming with desperation.

Then Bernie pulls away, lips wet and inviting. Whispers how beautiful she looks, how perfect she is, how _good_ she’s being. Serena rides her hand relentlessly, until her thighs burn from the friction of Bernie’s fatigues, until her limbs are aching. Until she comes hard, screaming Bernie’s name into the room that’s buzzing with all the energy she’s expelling.

Finally, everything is still. The aftershocks die down and Serena kisses Bernie gently, sweetly— a _thank you_ captured between kiss-bruised lips. Then Bernie withdraws her fingers and pulls Serena close, lets her sag against the warmth of her clothed body as she cradles her in her arms.

“Better?” Bernie murmurs into her hair, smoothing it down with her free hand. The other she wipes on the sheets, which Serena will chastise her for later, but for now she doesn’t have it in her to give Bernie anything less than the praise she deserves.

She hums contentedly in reply. “Much.”

They sit like that for a while, until Serena’s breathing evens, sleep tugging at the edge of her mind because _god_ , she hadn’t even thought about how exhausting that would be.

She must have drifted off, because next thing she knows Bernie is pressing gently at her shoulders, pushing her back upright. Serena blinks wearily. Shoots her the best quizzical look she can muster through the fog in her brain.

Bernie’s smile— once soft—  turns feral. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, the Major has arrived. She's coming (or I mean, she will be). Be prepared.


End file.
